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‘Kindly sign your full name here,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the large open page of the book, ‘and your ordinary signature, which you will attach to cheques, here.’

Anna wrote, but in doing so she became aware that she had no ordinary signature; she was obliged to invent one.

‘Do you wish to draw anything out now? There is already a credit of four hundred and twenty pounds in your favour,’ said Mr. Lovatt, after he had handed her a cheque-book, a deposit-book, and a pass-book.

‘Oh, no, thank you,’ Anna answered quickly. She keenly desired some money, but she well knew that courage would fail her to demand it without her father’s consent; moreover, she was in a whirl of uncertainty as to the uses of the three books, though Mr. Lovatt had expounded them severally to her in simple language.

‘Good-day.’

‘Good-day, Miss Tellwright.’

‘My compliments to your father.’

His final glance said half cynically, half in pity: ‘You are naive and unspoilt now, but these eyes will see yours harden like the rest. Wretched victim of gold, you are only one in a procession, after all.’